


In the Valley of the Kings

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 1920 au, Archeologist AU, British Colonial Attitudes, Egyptologist AU, M/M, Nightmares, No Smut, PTSD, Percilot - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, alternative universe, bed sharing, not spies au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Alastair Morton is leading an archeology expedition in Egypt's Valley of the Kings a few years after Howard Carter's discovery of King Tutankhamun's burial chamber.  Bureaucracy threatens to shut their operation down, but Alastair's partner, James, knows how to sweet talk the government officials.





	In the Valley of the Kings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).

> Written for my dear friend, Kyele's prompt (see end notes).
> 
> I am not an archeologist and most of what I know about the British in Egypt during the 1920s comes from various Agatha Christie novels, especially _Death on the Nile_.

"Effendi, we've been told we cannot dig anymore." Ibrahim, the crew boss, bows profusely in apology.

Alastair takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to find his patience. It wouldn't do to speak harshly to the workers. They are a necessary part of this operation and it isn't their fault that for the third time this fortnight, a government official and his team are nosing around the dig, doing his best to disrupt the operations at the site. Alastair suspects that the constant interruptions and shutdowns are the work of one the the rival archeologists swarming over the Valley of the Kings. Since Carter had discovered Tutankhamun's tomb last year, there have been more treasure seekers in the Valley than rats in the London underground.

And unlike the rats, those men have no honor, using any means possible to discover the next great find, willing to destroy history hidden by the sands of time to find a treasure than probably doesn't exist. Alastair is a man of science and history, trained in the discipline, familiar with both ancient Egypt gods and and the modern Egyptian world. 

He goes to find the leader of this latest government incursion, knowing full well that he'll have a much lighter wallet before his diggers will be allowed back to work. This is not the first time he's had to pay a bribe and it won't be the last.

Wending his way through clusters of workers enjoying the unexpected break, Alastair finds his partner, James, already deep in discussion with the official who had shut them down. Alastair hangs back, knowing full well that James has things under control, and that he'll be able to flatter the official into agreeing to take much less that he'd planned on demanding. James is the one with the winning personality, the one who has always been able to get out of trouble with a smile and a well-timed compliment. Alastair, on the other hand, has had a reputation as a moody son of a bitch since his undergraduate days.

Even now, twenty-two years on, Alastair doesn't think of himself as moody, just quiet and not inclined to socialize. He leaves that to James, who can charm the birds out of the trees.

There's a discreet handshake and the official smiles and gives James a shallow bow before calling out in Arabic that work may proceed. Alastair jumps out of the way of a gang of suddenly energized diggers and James spots him, waving for him to come over.

Alastair can't run away, get back to the dig, without offending the man who just let them go back to work. He makes his way through the busy crowd of white-robed men to join James, who doesn't hesitate to make the introduction. 

"Alastair, please let me introduce the most honored Wali al-Khalid, the most reverend Secretary of Antiquities for his most holy Majesty, King Fuad. Effendi Khalid, I am delighted to make known to you Doctor Lord Alastair Percival Quincey Stephen Morton, Eighth Viscount Morton."

"Doctor Lord Morton, it is a great pleasure to meet you at last." The functionary bows in a gesture of respect - not for Alastair's academic title, but for the hereditary one. "I am honored to meet such a distinguished Englishman."

Alastair knows this song and dance all too well. "The honor is mine, Effendi Khalid." Alastair's bow is not so deep, but deep enough to convey his own respect for the man's title and power.

Khalid smiles and Alastair is reminded of the jackals he'd seen ghosting along the Nile, looking to take down a water buffalo ten times its weight. 

James doesn't stop smiling when he tells Alastair, "I've invited Effendi Khalid to dine with us tonight, and tell him something of our work here in the _Wādī Abwāb al Mulūk_."

Other than to nod, Alastair doesn't react; this is the real price for getting the dig operational again. "We are honored to have you as our guest. Do you wish to have your staff observe the slaughter of the lamb we will dine on?"

Khalid declines. "That will not be necessary. It is known far and wide that the Morton-Spencer expedition is most respectful of its host nation's customs. I am looking forward to breaking bread with such distinguished men."

"Then we look forward to seeing you this evening."

At that, Khalid departs, his secretaries and servants scurrying after him.

James waits until the man and his retinue disappear before apologizing to Alastair. "Sorry, love. I know how much you hate having to entertain the locals."

Alastair sighs. "It's a necessary evil if we want to continue the dig. Keeping the powers that be sweet and satisfied will mean less chance that they'll confiscate our findings and toss us into prison for grave robbing." 

"I'll get with Husayn and have him prepare a spread worthy of our guest and then some."

"Tell him not to spare any expense. Wali al-Khalid needs to be impressed by more than my title. He hates the English, but he respects power and wealth and if we show that we are the wealthiest expedition in the Valley, he'll support us over any lesser operations."

"We hope."

"We have to hope. We're only guests in his country." Alastair knows that James is more likely to express a traditional imperial viewpoint, but that for another, more private time. 

The dinner is a great success, and by the time Wali al-Khalid and his retinue leave the camp that night, the moon has set behind the great Peak and Alastair is utterly exhausted. Khalid had a British education and the three men had spent much of the evening reminiscing about their university days. Of course, Khalid's viewpoint had been coloured by his experiences as a foreigner - and a brown foreigner at that - in the lily-white environs of Cambridge. 

Alastair can only imagine the difficulties; his own life has been one of great privilege. Even his war-time service had been more of a cushion than a hardship, working as a political liaison with the British Expeditionary Force in North Africa instead of in the trenches in Flanders.

"You all right, Ali?" James joins him outside their tent and offers him a puff from his cigarette.

"Fine. Just thinking about our guest."

"Poor bugger." James hands the cigarette back to Alastair, who finishes it.

"Exactly." Alastair doesn't want to think about Khalid or the trouble the man could bring on them.

"It's late, we should turn in." James tugs on Alastair's dinner jacket. They'd dressed for dinner, observing all of the formalities even in the desert. Abdul, Alastair's batman since the war, has finished overseeing the cleanup from dinner and returned the tent to its more accustomed state, with their camp beds set up in separate curtain-draped corners. 

It's out of loyalty and respect that Abdul pretends that his lordship and his friend spend the nights chastely in separate beds, sharing the large tent out of convenience rather than a need for propinquity. There's a certain segment of Egyptian society that will turn a blind eye to sodomy amongst the English, but they are far from Cairo's more cosmopolitan culture. Out here, in the Valley of the Kings, Alastair knows the camp could turn on them in a heartbeat if the true nature of his relationship with James becomes known.

James doesn't have his own batman here in Egypt; his valet, Smytheson, had chosen to remain behind in England, and while James can be a bit of a peacock, he's also a terribly practical man and able to fend for himself. Alastair had asked Abdul if he wouldn't mind looking after James as well, at least when events required a bit more spiffing up, and Abdul had readily agreed.

Tonight, Alastair dismisses Abdul, bidding him a good rest. He doesn't need anyone to help him get undressed, but he doesn't mind looking after James, who pushes his hands away, gently telling him, "I can look after myself. You're exhausted."

Alastair smiles, appreciative of the courtesy. "So are you - you kept the evening going, I just had to sit there and look suitably lordly."

"Which you do so well. I like socializing, you don't - you never have and you never will."

"It drains me." Alastair hangs his jacket up and drapes his bowtie across the shoulder. Shirt studs and cufflinks go into a small leather box, along with his watch and signet ring. He offers the box to James, who deposits similar items alongside Alastair's. The sight of their commingled bits of finery always pleases Alastair. They'll never have matching wedding rings, but years ago, before the war, they'd given each other cufflinks, something perfect and private and utterly unremarkable.

"Your bed tonight?" James has stripped down to his small clothes and picks up his pistol and robe, two essential items in a gentleman's nighttime wardrobe here in the desert.

"Hmm, I think so." Alastair is now equally disrobed, and checks that that his own service revolver is properly loaded before tucking it back into the holster draped over the frame of their camp bed.

Although they share a bed, any more bodily intimacy isn't feasible when they are surrounded by a hundred men who'd kill them for their forbidden congress.

James does kiss him goodnight though, and Alastair sighs into the caress. "We'll spend the summer in Cairo, where people won't care."

"Another six weeks?" James sounds just a bit pouty.

Alastair feels the same way, but caution has to be their by-word here. "Unfortunately, yes."

"I'll just have to be patient."

"And so will I."

"Love you, Ali." James snuggles against him from behind, wrapping his arms around Alastair's waist. 

Alastair turns out the lantern and puts his hand over James' as he settles into the pillow. James' steady breathing is a welcome warmth on his neck and shoulder, sending Alastair easily into slumber.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The dig is in its final week and Alastair knows that they are close to a major discovery. There's a shout from one of the groups of diggers working on the high ridge, "Effendi Doctor Morton, you must come!"

Alastair grabs his helmet and head up the steep ravine, slipping a bit as the sandstone crumbles under his boots.

"What have you found?"

"A tomb, Effendi! Look!" Ibrahim gestures with his shovel.

Alastair can't quite believe his eyes, there are lines of hieroglyphs, Old Kingdom forms, complete with cartouches identifying the resident behind the sealed wall. Translation isn't easy, it never is, despite what the popular novels and broadsheets would like the average person to believe. He focuses on the name in the cartouche.

Alastair mouths out the syllables and they don't make sense. There is no pharaoh who had been called _Ya-wy-ms_. He turns and looks for James, the realizes that his partner isn't at the site.

"Ibrahim, where is Effendi Spenser?"

The crew boss looks puzzled. "Who?" 

"Doctor Spenser, my colleague."

Ibrahim shakes his head. "You are the only Englishman on the dig, Effendi. Which is most unusual, but you have said you prefer to work alone."

Alastair is struck speechless. He hasn't been parted from James since the end of the war; they've been utterly inseparable, to their families' despair. "That's not right. James Spenser is an integral part of this expedition. He pays your wages, catalogs the finds, keeps peace with the government officials who keep trying to shut us down.

Ibrahim looks at him with great sadness. "Perhaps you have been out in the sun too much, Effendi. You have been doing all of those tasks, not someone else. There is no other Englishman here."

Alastair refuses to belief Ibrahim and focuses on the cartouche, mouthing out the syllables again. 

_Ya-wy-ms_

_Ya-wy-ms_

_Ja-wa-mes_

_James_

James is behind this wall. His lover, his partner, his husband despite law and society's disdain, is entombed inside a four thousand year old burial chamber and it doesn't make sense.

He tells Ibrahim to give him a pick, he's going to break through this wall and get James back, but Ibrahim refuses. 

"I can't let you do that, Effendi. You cannot destroy this wall. It is too precious."

"Then I'll tear it down with bare hands." Before Alastair can reach for the rock and do the impossible, Ibrahim is shaking him.

"Ali, Ali - wake up!"

That's not Ibrahim's voice. It's James'. And he's not on some ancient, sunburnt cliff side, hell-bent on desecrating a tomb, but in his tent, in bed. Alastair opens his eyes and sees James leaning over him.

"You were having a nightmare, love. You were screaming my name."

Alastair pants in relief, reaching up to touch James' cheek. "You're not dead."

"No, of course not. You've been having that terrible dream again." James kisses his forehead. "Maybe we need to close up the dig before summer, get you someplace a little cooler and wetter, or at least someplace where you're not surrounded by the dead."

Alastair reaches up and pulls James into his arms, breathing deep of the reality - the aliveness - of this man. He's been having variations of this nightmare since the war, when James' name had been mistakenly listed as a casualty at Third Ypres. "I don't think they will ever stop, whether I'm here in Egypt or back home in England. Whatever happens, James, don't leave me, please." This is a plea Alastair makes every time he wakens from these dreams.

"I never will, love." James kisses him again. "I can't exist without you. You are my whole world."

Alastair feels the coiled knot of fear unwind. He holds his lover close and whispers, "Just as you are mine."

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Kyele's prompt was "Percilot / Tombstone / Relief"


End file.
